GONER
by DevilinaCardigan
Summary: It was the year 3024 and Earth had, officially, lost the war… *Dark Fic/WIP*


_Author's Note__: Here is another one of my old Roswell fics that I am resurrecting. I don't plan on finishing this until I'm through with The Ballad of a Bullet but I have a few chapters saved up and I will be posting them every Saturday. I hope everyone reads, enjoys and replies._

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><p><strong>Part One<strong>

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><p>She remembered some things from First Planet.<p>

How blue the sky was, her father's hands, her mother's red hair, the empty stretch of the desert, how warm it was…It was always so cold down here.

But she mostly remembered the bad things.

The taste of blood in her mouth, the screaming that had been almost constant until the very end, until they dropped the bomb.

There was no movement after that.

No sound at all.

Liz shook the thoughts away and turned on her small cot, trying to get comfortable, before giving it up. She glanced at the clock and sighed, sleep was not in the cards for her tonight. She had to be up at 0500 and decided to make an early day of it instead of trying to sleep in for another 20 minutes.

She rolled out of bed and pulled on the thin, white, shift that constituted her new uniform, trying not to fidget in it. She'd known this day was coming since she was six but seeing herself dressed as a royal maid was still a shock. She shouldn't be here—Madam Marcel made sure to remind her of it every day. She wasn't tall enough, curvy enough or pretty enough to claim the 'great honor' that belonged to her new class. But she was one of the very few human teenagers available on Antar and that made Liz a hot commodity.

Most of the teens, young adults and elderly people from First Planet had either died in the war or on the trip over, leaving a generational gap between those who were now 40 and up and those who had been born on Antar since their landing 10 years ago.

She had just turned 16 today.

This wasn't her real birthday, of course, and Liz wasn't her real name but her mother, she liked to call her Nancy, had been separated from her as soon as they got off the ship and, unfortunately, the woman hadn't thought to grab her birth notice before they'd been taken from their home.

Liz liked to think that, if she had known that was the last time she'd ever see her mother, she would have thought up something better to say. Instead she'd yelled and screamed, acted like the kid she was and never said a word. She bit her lip and looked away from the pock marked hand-me-down mirror she'd been so happy to receive yesterday.

'_We can't have you looking even more impoverished than you do naturally tomorrow_,' Madame Marcel had said snidely but Liz only ignored her as she twirled in front of its reflective surface.

'_You must come up early tomorrow and let us help you prepare. It will be the first time most of you are available to the royal family and first impressions mean everything_!'

Available, she'd snorted then at the word choice and she snorted now recalling it. _Available_. Liz and the other consorts knew what that really meant when you took into account what their lectures were about.

And that was okay with her.

It had to be.

They'd been taught immediately that, on Antar, there were only three things a human could do. The bottom of the tier was field and kitchen work. The job started before the sun came up and ended well after it had gone done. The work was brutal and the people who did it had a lifespan that was years less than any other demographic. This was what most of the people over 40 did and what most of the children under 6 were going to do as soon as they were old enough to pick up a spoon or a hoe.

She was a part of the second tier, The Odalisque, or The Hand to Mouth Whores as some Antarians called them. People from this planet hated all humans, but they could respect the field hands and cooks work ethic and the highest tiers beauty and knowledge but the consorts had neither of those things.

Like every other person from First Planet, it was illegal for them to learn how to read anything but a traffic sign or write anything but their own name. They were obligated to please any member of the royal house that asked for it and they received none of the perks of the First tier.

The first and highest post any human, and many Antarians, could hope to reach was that of companion.

The profession was so important here, in fact, that the second thing they did, after they tore them away from their parents, was to shop them around to the brothels. Liz and another girl named Maria, though that wasn't her real name either, had both been picked up by the same house. The sweet blonde with the ringlets was set to learn the trade and the sullen red eyed brunette was set to clean up after them.

She wasn't pretty enough for Madame Marcel to put her name on but she was cute enough to walk five steps behind them and hold their coats out in public. In fact, that was how Maria had been spotted by Michael Guerin. He was a fifteen year old future Duke who would one day govern an outer planet named Terro and, that day, he picked a lowly human as his concubine.

The gossip mill flared up full force with angry Antarians wondering why he didn't pick any of the appropriate home planet girls but they didn't change his mind. She was taught _The Book of Love_and was immediately sterilized, which was the governmental standard when the species mixed legally.

The last thing anyone needed was a new lower class of half-breeds.

When he came to collect her five years later, as she cried and hung onto Liz's shoulder, the brunette smiled and told her not to worry about it, said she would see her later.

Liz liked to think that if she'd known that would be the last time she ever saw her friend, she would have thought of something better to say. Instead, she helped her out the door.

Maria was another goner, just like her mother, just like her father. Another person who had just up and disappeared. She hoped though, that the blonde was happy and well read somewhere since, when a companion was bought, their owner was able to teach them to read and write as they so chose. That, or they could beat them in the street with no one blinking an eye but that wasn't so different then what happened anyway. There was no place to go but up.

"Are you deaf?"

Liz turned toward Cecilia, a tall slinky red head, startled by the sudden sound of her voice.

"If you don't hurry, they aren't going to be able to do your hair and make-up before your debut and believe me," she said slowly with a turned up lip. "You need it."

Good thing Liz had become adept at ignoring things she didn't want to hear. Otherwise, that may have upset her. "I was just coming up."

Cecilia led the way up and through a familiar labyrinth of corridors and staircases until they reached the dressing room and the chaos that filled it. Five boarders, excluding her, had been brought by the King on his last visit and they were all fluttering about nervously, getting their hair curled just so, adding a little eye liner here and there, the boys were oiling their chests and the girls were getting gold flecked powder applied.

She stopped in the door for a moment, suddenly scared. Liz was the first and only human that had been chosen by the king himself.

She'd been walking through the lobby when King Zan the 1st burst through the door on his way out. She immediately fell to her knees before touching her nose to the floor in the full body curtsy expected of a human in the presence of royalty. She remembered being wound so tight thinking about how angry Madam Marcel was going to be when he'd left…she remembered thinking how this was the man who had probably killed her father and did who knew what to her mother, who had ordered all but the extinction of the human race.

And he was standing right in front of her.

And he wasn't moving.

"Why wasn't she shown to me," he asked in a deep baritone that she was ashamed to say scared her.

"She's a fleshbag," Madame Marcel said with disdain and a hint of panic. This was the first time King Zan had ever been to this house and how she handled this situation could make or break her reputation. "I'm sure you're not interested in buying one of tho…"

"Stand up girl," he ordered, talking over Marcel and stopping her in her tracks.

Liz moved out of her position slowly and stood with her head down, tried to ignore her wildly beating heart, the little voice in the back of her mind telling her to yell at him, tell him to fuck off, scratch his eyes out.

Doing any of those things would be a death sentence and no matter how bad it was, she wasn't ready to die yet.

She could feel him run his eyes over her as he moved closer, brushed the side of her face with whatever type of fur was decorating the edge of his coat. He smelled warm, like he'd been out in the sun doing whatever it is that kings do and she raised her eyes to his in defiance before she could stop herself.

"Look away from him you unclean girl," Marcel shrieked breaking their contact and forcing Liz to look away before he brought her chin back.

"Be quiet Madame," he said quietly but with an edge. "If I need your help I'll ask for it."

Liz could feel the woman fuming from here and knew she would pay for it when he left but couldn't get herself to care.

"You're feisty," he said lowly. "Most of your kind scuttles around with their heads down trying their best to be invisible but the most powerful man here, the King of Antar," his voice boomed, sending a shock through her, "a man other Antarians fear comes in and you look him right in the eye. I like that."

She didn't say anything.

His eyes ran over her body slowly but it wasn't sexy. Not just because he was a mass murderer but because there was no lust or appreciation in his gaze. He could have been looking for a stallion or mare to add to the royal stables instead of a flesh and blood woman for all of his disinterest.

"You're dark, too thin, brown eyes and hair; nothing particularly interesting but…"

She was curious what his next words would be despite herself.

"I see potential in you and no one else at court has a human," she was looking down but could hear his smile. "They'll be so scandalized."

He ran his hand along the side of her face gently, a moment too long, before backing away and starting towards the door. Liz took a deep breath and started to unwind when he called back over his shoulder nonchalantly, "throw her on the tab too," before pushing through the doors.

She came back to the present when Madame Marcel pushed her down into a chair and started combing out her hair roughly. "If you had gotten here sooner, I wouldn't have to be so rough but we've only got an hour to get to the palace now."

Liz rolled her eyes and tuned the older woman out as she tried to enjoy the pampering she was receiving. Someone washed her hair, blow dried it, curled it, lined her eyes, painted her lips, highlighted her bone structure with a shimmering powder, sprinkled gold powder on her body and they stood her up in front of the mirror with quizzical expressions.

"She looks," Cecilia said with shock and disgust, "halfway decent."

The little jabs at her appearance were beginning to get to her. "Can we go now or what?"

"Yes," Marcel said quickly after glancing at the clock. "We have to have time to set up."

She remembered Maria had been flown to visit Michael in the houses very expensive floating carriage. The Consorts, on the other hand, fell out the back door laughing and piled tightly into an old car.

"Squeeze," Madame said and then shoved herself in without waiting, pushing Liz into a tall redhead named James that she'd been flirting with for years but, with whom, nothing had ever happened. He was Antarian, she wasn't.

And that was okay with her.

Really.

It was forbidden anyway.

"Drive on Thompson."

Liz sat in the back seat and let her eyes drift around the scenery, it was so early in the morning the streets were mostly empty, and this would most likely be the last time she ever saw the grounds beyond the palaces gates. She was feeling surprisingly sad about that. Walking the streets of Antar was a battle she thought she wouldn't miss but the thought of being cooped up in a building for the rest of life was getting less and less appealing the closer she got to her destination.

"Are you okay," James asked in that soft voice of his that had attracted Liz to him in the first place.

She turned toward him with a small, tense smile. "You're not a little freaked about being chained up in there for the rest of your life," she asked quietly. Liz was afraid the others would hear but they were all too busy off in their own world or listening to another one of the companions, Zalee, sing along to the radio.

"It's better than the alternative, especially for you."

She knew he was right but it angered her anyway. "It shouldn't be like that," she muttered more to herself than him and he grabbed her hand discreetly, giving it a small squeeze, before dropping it again.

"You'll get used to it."

She was about to say something else when they stopped and Thompson popped out the car and opened the back door. They all sat still for a moment until Marcel triggered them into action.

"Well get out then," she said impatiently, pushing them out the door. "You'd think you people didn't want this great honor with the way you're stalling."

They filed out and walked around to the back of one of the satellite house, she could barely see the roof of the place in the distance, and descended the stairs into its cellar where there was a flurry of activity. Baths being taken, make up being reapplied, tutorials on how they were expected to hold the trays and how they were to enter the solarium where the party was being held.

Liz was getting her hair re curled when Marcel came over, grabbing at her shift and tsking over it. "This isn't nearly transparent enough. How will they see your body in this?"

She brushed her curls out lightly. "I'll be taking it off soon enough anyway."

Madame dropped the hem like it was on fire, scowled, said, "This is why I don't try and help you Liz," before stomping away.

The brunette smiled a little and looked at herself under the bright light in front of the mirror to find the shift was plenty transparent for her. She tried to beat back the trepidation that had been sneaking up on her since she saw the entrance to their castle from the car.

"It's almost time," Madame yelled from the front of the room, visibly excited. "Everyone line up for your final check and then well be on our way.

A young man in a fabulously tailored black suit entered the room and Liz slinked into line, starting to feel a little claustrophobic, a little short of breath. He looked over each person on his list, checking to see if they'd gotten any scars or anything else undesirable between the time they'd been bought and now before moving to the next.

"Elizabeth," he asked, looking a little disbelieving until she produced her papers and shut him up.

"You're a little small."

"King Zan must like it, he brought me."

The emissary wanted to hit her, she could tell, but Liz was now the property of the royal family themselves and he wouldn't dare do anything to possibly upset them. She smiled a little at that.

"Last name?"

She stumbled for a moment before answering. "Marcel."

"Your madams last name. She's your mother?"

This man knew she wasn't the woman's daughter, or anyone else's for that matter. He just wanted to try and embarrass her but even though she was scared of this new chapter in her life, it was better than any of the others and she didn't want this man to mess it up.

"My previous owner actually," she responded with a chipper grin.

He moved in close, faux quizzical smile on full wattage display. "Oh that's right, you things have no family. So you wouldn't have a last name but, based on your age, I'd say you actually did have one once." He paused for a minute. "We probably killed them on that primitive ball of clay. You guys call it First Planet right?"

Her smile had gotten very tight indeed but she didn't let it waver, no matter how much she wanted to. "That's right."

"Good, good," he replied under his breath and moved onto the young man directly behind her.

Her face slipped into a blank mask then, and when Marcel, who wasn't far behind the man saw her look, she whispered disapprovingly, "don't frown Liz," and raised her arm to get the rowdy crowds attention back while moving back to the head of the room.

"This is the last time we will ever be teacher and pupil again. I just want to tell you to be proud of yourselves, you've moved up in society and, if you listened to my instructions carefully, they will accept you with open arms. Good luck!"

Everyone broke into a loud clap as they moved into one of the dank underground tunnels that flared out from the main residence like tentacles. This was it, the culmination of her life and she was only still a teenager.


End file.
